


Before & After

by deplore



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Future Fic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima has memories and lies, dreams and futures to unfold, truths and paths he'll never walk. Akashi, for his part, has a daughter.</p><blockquote>
  <p>“Do you believe in unconditional love, Shintarou?” Akashi had asked him, a week before Midorima’s high school graduation and two days after Akashi’s. He’d said it in a lightly contemplative tone, as if he were floating out a question about whether it might rain tomorrow. Midorima had found it disingenuous that Akashi would disguise the question as idle, pointless conversation.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Before & After

“Do you believe in unconditional love, Shintarou?” Akashi had asked him, a week before Midorima’s high school graduation and two days after Akashi’s. He’d said it in a lightly contemplative tone, as if he were floating out a question about whether it might rain tomorrow. Midorima had found it disingenuous that Akashi would disguise the question as idle, pointless conversation. “I don’t think I do, to be honest. Love is inherently a selfish act, in my opinion. Even familial love can’t claim to be completely altruistic – since there’s only one way to be immortal, and that’s to be remembered. We pass down our family name, and like that, we can live forever.”

Midorima had tightened his grip on the second button he’d carefully snipped off of his graduation uniform and didn’t reply. Akashi left to study abroad in the United States not long afterwards. Midorima did not follow, and remembered how to touch his feet to the ground instead.

 

 

 

**(WHAT COMES AFTER.)**

 

 

 

When Akashi reenters Midorima’s life ten years after their high school graduation, he comes back with one thing that Midorima had never thought Akashi would have: a daughter.

“Her name is Yuu,” Akashi tells him. “Yuu, say hello to Shintarou.”

Yuu looks up from the 80-piece puzzle Akashi’s set up on the table in front of them and glances shyly at Midorima. “Hello, nice to meet you,” she says. Her auburn hair is tied up into pigtails, and the ribbons match the color of her dress exactly. From Midorima’s estimation, Yuu must be around three years old, close to four.

“Hello,” Midorima replies, not knowing what else to say. “A pleasure to meet you as well.”

Akashi smiles fondly at her. “Don’t forget, Yuu, it’s polite to greet people when meeting them for the first time,” he says. Midorima can’t help but be reminded of the way that Akashi used to chastise Murasakibara for littering crumbs across the gym floor – gently, but firmly.

“I know, Daddy,” she replies. “Can I go back to my puzzle now?”

“Go ahead. Shintarou and I need to talk, anyway,” Akashi tells her.

From the moment that Akashi had called him, Midorima had been prepared to expect anything, so that when Akashi had walked into the café they’d arranged to meet at holding a little girl in his arms, Midorima had simply flagged a waitress to ask for a booster seat. Even still, Midorima can’t help but feel surprised: there are a storm of questions he wants to ask, but he imagines some of them would cross the boundary of politeness, especially considering the last time they’d held a conversation face-to-face, they had been eighteen and Midorima was full of mixed emotions, vibrant and contradictory. Instead, Midorima picks up the cup of coffee he’d ordered and sips on it, taking his time going through all the motions of drinking, letting the flavor settle into his tongue, and swallowing before placing the cup back down on the table.

Across from him, Yuu separates out the edge pieces of the puzzle. 

 

 

 

Two truths and a lie:

1\. Midorima is nearing thirty years old and he has not held down a long-term relationship since he finished medical school. The last person to break up with him had said, tenderly and bluntly, “You’re so hard to be with,” and it had struck him deeper than he’d thought it would. Midorima had always thought the same about Akashi, but being with Akashi was always been worth the difficulties. If not, it had at least _felt_ like it had been worth the difficulties, and that was perhaps more important anyway.

2\. Takao has been attempting to set him up on blind dates on and off for years now. Midorima keeps using his job as an excuse to weasel out of them, to the point that Takao finally seems on the verge of giving up on it. Takao always sends him to people people whose eyes crinkle at the edges when they smile and laugh often and speak from the heart, people who are always conscious not to miss the forest for the trees. Midorima is not surprised that Takao has a knack of finding this kind of person, because Takao is also like that, and birds of a feather flock together. Takao is his support, Takao is the reassurance that somebody will show up at his house every morning to go to school together, Takao is the one who puts his hands on Midorima’s shoulders and gently pushes him back down to earth when Midorima begins to drift. The difference between what Takao is for Midorima and what Akashi was to him, Midorima thinks, is the same as the difference between wanting something and needing it. He doesn’t know which one is which, and he prefers to leave it as such.

3\. There was a period of time when Midorima was muddling through studying the nervous system in his second year of medical school and running on three hours a sleep of night in which he had slowly come to the realization that maybe being in love with Akashi wasn’tan exception to his usual gender preferences and that the strange admiration he had for his classmate Yamazaki sitting two rows ahead of him was not precisely _admiration_. This epiphany that had struck with the strangest sense of guilt, like he maybe should call his parents and apologize: “Mother, Father. You may not see our family name passed down another generation. I am deeply sorry.” In the end, he had kept it from his parents. He still does.

 

 

 

 

“I imagine you have many questions for me,” Akashi says.

“I imagine that you won’t be interested in answering more of them than you feel like you need to,” Midorima replies, perhaps more sharply than he’d intended.

Akashi laughs softly. Age seems to have softened the corners of Akashi’s eyes slightly, Midorima thinks – or maybe that’s just his wishful thinking. “You haven’t changed as much as I thought you might,” Akashi says. “You’re still the first to call a spade by its name.”

“What else would I call it?” Midorima asks.

“A digging implement, maybe,” Akashi says thoughtfully, before sharply changing the subject. “Are you in a relationship, Shintarou?” he asks.

Midorima raises an eyebrow; Akashi’s expression remains constant. “No, I’m not,” Midorima answers. “Are you?”

“Neither am I,” Akashi says. He glances to his left at Yuu.

“So you’re raising her alone, then?” Midorima replies.

Akashi smiles wanly. “I’m informed that some people believe that children need both a male and female figure in their life to grow up well-developed, but I don’t buy it,” he says.

Midorima has seen no lack of single mothers and is well aware that Akashi comes from a one-parent household, so he isn’t inclined to disagree, except this isn’t a matter of statistics and averages – this is Akashi Seijuurou, raising a daughter by himself. “It’s a rather outdated way of thinking,” he replies, tone carefully neutral. “But it’s not as if you have ever cared much about what the herd believes.”

“The spade is a spade,” Akashi agrees.

 

 

 

Cancer’s lucky item for the day is a family photo. Before leaving his apartment in the morning, Midorima had tucked into his wallet a hastily printed-out copy of the picture they had done when he was nine and his sister was four. She’d sat on their mother’s lap and held his hand as the photographers arranged and rearranged them into different positions, which she had tolerated with far more patience than he had. He has a lot of fondness for this particular photograph over all their other family portraits; the next time they had done an official photo was when he was fifteen, right before his middle school graduation. He’d printed the picture on low-quality paper, and the ink flaked off a bit along the crease lines when he’d folded it. Midorima tries not to think of it as inauspicious.

At some point during his years serving residency and watching people who had done all they could suffering far more than they deserved, Midorima had lost some of his zeal for astrology and began thinking of lucky items more as a daily reassurance than a necessity. Sometimes, though Oha Asa assigns items like this and Midorima’s more superstitious than any grandmother on the earth all over again. Old habits are hard to break like that – easy to fall back into and difficult to shake off.

 

 

 

“Shintarou, I must admit that I’m,” Akashi starts, but then he pauses, closes his eyes, and sighs softly. After a moment or two, he opens his eyes again and continues: “I am apprehensive, Shintarou,” he says.

“As you should be,” Midorima says. “Raising a child is no small task, Akashi.”

 “This apprehension goes beyond what’s normal, I think,” Akashi replies.

It is very difficult to meet Akashi’s gaze for long periods of time when Akashi makes a point of staring – there was a time when Midorima had gotten so used to it that it didn’t faze him in the least, but time and nostalgia have dulled away his resistance. Midorima looks at the wall behind Akashi’s head. “How so?” he asks.

“I am my father’s son, aren’t I?” Akashi replies, with an affected lightness to his tone. Midorima knows the inflection well: it’s the same one that he’d had to perfect during his residency for delivering bad news to a patient’s family, carefully detached as to not convey too much personal emotion. “Is it so surprising that I’m concerned about becoming my daughter’s father?”

Akashi hasn’t picked up his cup of spiced tea even once so far. Midorima can tell it’s beginning to cool off, and there’s something about spiced tea that falls a little flat when it’s lukewarm. “At the very least, you’re already self-aware,” Midorima says. “That’s half the battle won.”

“That’s something of an oversimplification of the situation, I think – but I appreciate the sentiment, Shintarou,” Akashi replies slowly.

Midorima looks at Yuu, but she seems unconcerned with the conversation going on, deeply engrossed in her puzzle. She’s already managed to put the outer pieces together and is slowly filling in the middle. “Perhaps you’re the one overcomplicating things,” he says.

Akashi shrugs, impassive, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

 

 

 

The truth is that Akashi’s father had cherished him. Every time that Midorima had been over at Akashi’s house, there was a different magazine clipping proudly framed and displayed for visitors to see. Trophies and certificates were well cared for; there was never a speck of dust on any of them. Akashi’s father had a keen memory for his son’s accomplishments, and was glad to expound upon them whenever Midorima happened to be at Akashi’s house.

“Your father remembers Teikou’s game statistics better than I do,” Midorima had once commented.

Akashi had smiled shallowly and picked up two pieces of fruit from the bowl on the kitchen counter, scraping into the skin slightly with his fingernails. In his left hand he weighed a peach – in his right, a green pear. “That much is to be expected. For instance, a stable owner always remembers how many ribbons his racing horses have brought in,” Akashi replied. “Which flavor do you prefer?”

“Either is fine,” Midorima answered.

“Then I’ll give you the sweeter of the two,” Akashi said, and handed him the peach.

 

 

 

 

“Why did you call me here, Akashi?” Midorima asks.

Akashi stirs at his tea, but still doesn’t drink from it. “I’d like to ask you a favor, Shintarou,” he answers.

“If it’s to be Yuu’s doctor, I’ll have to politely decline on account of the fact that I’m not a pediatrician,” Midorima says, because it wouldn’t be the first time a family friend or distant acquaintance has brought something like this up with him. “But I can recommend you to some of Tokyo’s best, if you’d like.”

“No, I’ve already looked into pediatricians myself – though I wouldn’t mind having your opinion on that, too,” Akashi replies, smiling slightly. “I would like to ask you to be Yuu’s custodial guardian, in the case that I ever become unable to care for her.”

Midorima inhales deeply and asks, “Why me?”

“I trust you, Shintarou,” Akashi says. The answer is so simple that Midorima almost wants to laugh. “I’ve always trusted you, and in your capabilities.”

Midorima feels a sensation almost like vertigo, because the way Akashi wraps the words around his tongue makes it almost feel more as if he is saying _I love you, Shintarou. I’ve always loved you, and even now, I still do love you._ But Midorima thinks he’s probably not as good as understanding Akashi as everybody else (Akashi included) thinks he is.

 

 

 

Two memories and a dream:

1\. They’re twelve years old and they secretly hands underneath the desks at school, Midorima blushing slightly while staring away from Akashi pointedly, but he doesn’t let go. Akashi’s hand is smaller than his; Akashi’s fingers are shorter than his. Midorima often thinks to himself that the idea of Akashi playing the piano is a bit strange, because his hands simply aren’t made for sweeping arpeggios and chords that make even Midorima stretch his reach. It doesn’t matter – Akashi always finds a way to overcome. Nobody else notices their casual romantic subterfuge, and the image of Akashi sitting at a piano has a fanciful sort of elegance to it, Midorima thinks.

Akashi has never played the piano for him, though Midorima has for Akashi. It’s the sort of thing Midorima tries not to read too far into.

2\. They’re fifteen and about to finish their time as middle school students. Midorima loses to Akashi at shogi one last time before graduation. They finish up just as the sun is setting and the sky is a haze of reds and oranges. “This is why you can never beat me,” Akashi tells him as Midorima stares at the board, looking for ways that he could have avoided defeat and only seeing methods of extending his struggle. “You always forget that a superior endgame can forgive a mediocre opening.” Akashi smiles, but the curve of his lips doesn’t match the expression in his eyes. Midorima knows rationally that at some point afterwards, they must have packed the shogi set away and parted ways to walk back home, but he has no recollection of it.

3\. They’re seventeen and fumbling with each others’ clothes in the half-light of a desk lamp sitting on the other side of his room. Akashi puts his mouth to the tip of Midorima’s dick and wrecks him completely, leaving him a mess of atoms in the vague shape and idea of Midorima Shintarou. “Make me a promise, Shintarou,” Akashi murmurs against the inside of Midorima’s thigh. “Don’t let anybody else touch you like this.” _How can you think that anybody else could touch me the way you can_ , Midorima wants to reply, because it could be anybody else’s mouth and Midorima knows the feeling wouldn’t be the same, but then Akashi’s lips are on his cock again and words are beyond him –

 

 

 

As much as he tries not to, Midorima has to wonder whether or not Yuu is Akashi’s daughter biologically. There’s something in her eyes that’s similar to Akashi’s, drawn at the ends and colored a hazy shade of amber that changes in the light from brown to almost yellow. But Midorima notices more strongly the way her face is shaped: even as a child, her face is slender and features pleasantly spaced, and Midorima suspects she will grow up classically beautiful. Akashi had kept a persistent cushion of baby fat around his cheeks through middle school, his face a bit too drawn to be traditionally beautiful. Midorima knows that a child’s physical appearance doesn’t necessarily match the parents’, but there’s a gut feeling he can’t shake off.

Yuu has almost finished the puzzle. There are only a handful of unplaced pieces left on the table, and Midorima can see that the puzzle is a picture of a bird – not a sparrow or a cardinal, but a bird of prey, perched proudly upon the top of a leafless tree. She has put it together too quickly for a normal toddler, he thinks to himself. Even if not genetically, this feat certainly shows her to be Akashi Seijuurou’s daughter.

She puts in the last piece and looks up, beaming at Akashi. “Daddy, I did it!” she says.

Akashi smiles at her. “I knew you could do it, Yuu,” he replies. “Good job. Was it difficult?”

“It was, uh,” she begins, before pausing and tilting her head. It’s one of Akashi’s mannerisms, Midorima realizes, his bad habit of starting a sentence and only stopping to fully think it through after he’s already put a few words out. “It wasn’t very hard once I remembered Daddy told me to look for corner pieces the last time I did a puzzle.”

“Clever girl,” Akashi praises, reaching out to stroke her hair gently. Yuu giggles and soaks in the affection. Akashi seems almost stricken by her expression, as if he can’t believe that she is real, and Midorima realizes that Akashi is right to be apprehensive: Akashi is too good at deconstructing, because Akashi knows what it’s like to be deconstructed. Midorima has been on the receiving end of that treatment plenty of times, both when Akashi meant to do it and when he didn’t, and Midorima knows very well – Akashi’s words can dig deep and leave raw wounds, and someday Yuu might know that pain all too well.

“I’ll do it,” Midorima says suddenly. “But only if your daughter is fine with that arrangement.”

Akashi stops ruffling Yuu’s hair, but only so he can pick her up out of her booster seat and sit her in his lap. “What do you think, Yuu? Do you think that you and Shintarou could get along well? Would it be alright to see him more?” Akashi asks her.

Yuu stares at Midorima, but it carries a different kind of weight than Akashi’s gaze does – the pressure of being observed by an innocent, Midorima supposes.  “It’s okay,” she offers shyly.

“Then it’s settled,” Akashi says, but with none of his usual briskness. Yuu peers into his cup of tea, drawing out the stirring spoon. “Shintarou, I’ll e-mail you with the legal details later and we can go over them together at your convenience. Why don’t you come over for dinner sometime?”

“I’ll see what evenings I’m free,” Midorima replies, almost as a matter of reflex.

“Daddy, if you get tea you should drink it,” Yuu interrupts, in the faintly chastising way only children can admonish adults. She drops the spoon back into the cup where it clatters against the rim.

Akashi allows himself to be reprimanded, bowing his head towards her as he smiles slightly and picks the cup up, pushing the spoon away from his face as he takes a sip. Midorima watches this and marvels in the power a single little girl has exerted over Akashi, oblivious to how many people would envy her for it. He supposes he must be one of them.

 

 

 

To cherish: verb (used with object) –

  1.        To hold or treat as dear; to feel love for
  2.        To care for tenderly; nurture
  3.        To cling fondly or inveterately to



One day when Midorima is home from university during a summer break, Midorima’s relatives from the countryside drop off a crate of peaches fresh from the trees. Midorima picks one of the fruits up, presses his fingers into the soft flesh, and thinks of the cabinet of trophies that Akashi’s father had kept. He can’t remember if Akashi’s father ever came to any of their basketball games during middle school.  Disconcerted, he presses too hard and his thumb pierces the skin of the peach, and it bleeds sticky juice onto his hand.

The truth is that Akashi’s father had cherished him. Midorima wonders, though, if his definition of _cherish_ might have been different from Akashi’s.

 

 

 

“I’m glad that you agreed to meet with me today, Shintarou,” Akashi says. “It’s reassuring to see you doing well.”

There is a temptation to point out how incredibly disingenuous it is to say something like that once Akashi’s already asked more of him in this conversation than Akashi has any right to, or that it’s impossible for Akashi to get a proper scope on the state of Midorima’s life from just this one meeting. Instead, Midorima sighs sharply and willfully shuts down any chance at successfully making polite chitchat by replying, “Save your concern for somebody who needs it more than I do.”

“I’ll take that advice,” Akashi says, after a pause. “But really, Shintarou – I’m happy you came. Perhaps a bit surprised, but I appreciate it.”

Midorima had not expected anything close to an apology for how improperly Akashi chose to intrude into his life again, and he supposes this is as close as he will get to that.

 

 

 

Three possibilities for the future – two cast away, one realized:

1\. By most accounts, Yuu grows up normally. Akashi doesn’t pressure her into inheriting the family business, nor does he exert any sort of unrealistic standards of success on her. Midorima doesn’t see her often, but the impression that he gets whenever Akashi asks him over for the occasional dinner is that she seems to be happy. True to Midorima’s predictions, she grows up beautiful, long-limbed and exquisitely proportioned and fending off admirers at every turn.  She ends up attending Teikou Middle School out of coincidence, and Akashi pretends like he doesn’t mind the fact. Yuu learns to play the piano, and Midorima is invited to all of her recitals. He finds that she plays with a certain grace – a fanciful elegance – entrancing to watch.

Akashi never finds a significant other, no matter how much Yuu pesters him to. For his part, neither does Midorima.

2\. Falling back in love with Akashi Seijuurou really is like falling back into an old habit. Akashi pulls Midorima back into his orbit effortlessly, like a star catching a planet in its orbit, and this time neither of them let go. “Did you wait for me, Shintarou?” Akashi murmurs into Midorima’s ear one evening, when the sun is setting and the light through the window seems to tangle thick in Akashi’s hair, casting up shadows – conjuring up memories. Akashi slides his hand across Midorima’s chest and plays with the button at the collar of Midorima’s shirt.

 _I think I maybe was_ , Midorima tries to say, but Akashi leans in and kisses him, swallowing Midorima’s answer whole.

3\. True to his word, Akashi calls him a week afterwards and Midorima doesn’t pick up. He thinks to himself, _Akashi Seijuurou, I’m done with you. You once told me to never let anybody touch me the way that you touched me, but now I see that those were chains_. Midorima blocks Akashi’s number, and lets Takao set him up on another blind date. It goes very well.

They meet again at a school reunion a few years later. Both of them pretend that their last meeting never happened. “How is your daughter?” Midorima asks. Akashi presses his lips together and shrugs. There’s a whole universe of ambiguity in the gesture, but Midorima cannot find in him the curiosity to wonder anymore.

 

 

 

**(WHAT CAME BEFORE.)**

 

 

 

“Once, Akashi, you asked me if I believed in unconditional love,” Midorima says. “You told me that you did not.”

“I remember that,” Akashi replies slowly. “Thinking about it now… that might have been cruel of me to say.”

 “Perhaps you thought that was actually a kindness,” Midorima comments dryly.

Akashi tilts his head, noncommittal, and echoes, “Perhaps. At the time, perhaps I did think that.”

“Then, have you reconsidered your answer?” Midorima asks.

Yuu looks up at Akashi, and Midorima watches as Akashi puts his hand on top of her head, smoothing out her hair. It looks almost like he is shielding her, Midorima thinks to himself. “I have begun to,” Akashi murmurs.

Midorima closes his eyes for a moment and breathes out before opening them again. “Then you’ll be fine,” he says, as much to Akashi as it is to himself. His feet are still on the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:  
> 1\. [This](http://japaneseatdrake.edublogs.org/wp-content/plugins/lean-captcha/lc_ep.php) explains the significance of a boy giving away the second button at graduation. Tl;dr version it’s a poetic way of giving away your “heart”.  
> 2\. Yuu (優) is a unisex name meaning “gentleness, superiority”. 
> 
>  
> 
> has anybody else ever dug through their WIPs folder and found a fic, almost fully finished with little to no recollection of what was ever the intent or purpose of it and a tendency to be twice as critical of it because you know _you_ wrote that fic, but at the same time you are like _i don't remember writing these words_? maybe this doesn't happen to people with better recall than me...


End file.
